


Gyrkin

by CarverTwain



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Magic is not illegal, Merlin is much younger than Arthur, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, young Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarverTwain/pseuds/CarverTwain
Summary: (Magic is not Illegal AU)"Gyrkin": A male gyrfalcon, commonly used to refer to falcons used in falconry. It is a tool for the hunter.King Uther Pendragon allows magic in Camelot, blaming himself instead for his wife's death, rather than the magic that exchanged her life for her newborn son's. But many other kingdoms, like Essetir, do not share his views. Magic-users are brutally hunted outside of Camelot. And Uther sees advantages in being the only kingdom to protect magic-users and druids.





	1. The Quarry

It was back in Ealdor, nearly ten days ago, that Arthur had received his last bit of useful information regarding their quarry. Since then, nothing else had surfaced; no other tips or rumors had made themselves known. Arthur mused over this as they rode, back hunched, his deep frown evident all over his body. Fifteen days of riding around in circles in these damnable woods, thick enough to make the sunny day look cloudy. What was he going to tell his father when he returned empty-handed?

He held up his fist. "Halt!"

Without another word he slithered off his horse and marched down to the stream bed they had been following for the past few hours. Behind him he could hear the other men and knights dismounting, someone said something about breaking for midday. Gods, was it midday already? Arthur slapped the measly trickle of water in the streambed and rubbed the damp over the back of his neck. It was cool. Arthur huffed and wiped his brow of sweat. Almost felt like the forest was trying to suffocate him. He let himself slide down from his crouch until he sat on his arse on the bank of the creek.

"Water, sire?" A waterskin was thrust into his line of vision.

Arthur took it. "Thanks, Leon." He drank, the water was warm and stale.

"Is everything alright, sire?" Leon stood beside Arthur, eyeing the stream as well.

Arthur tossed the waterskin aside and hauled himself to his feet again. "Yes, well, I just felt like a brief pause would be appropriate." He turned to the trees beyond the creek and gestured beyond, opening his mouth to say something about the distance they had come, or how hot it was right now in the height of summer, but the words died. Something moved there, in the trees. He squinted.

"Yes, good choice, sire." Leon was agreeing with him.

Arthur stepped back one pace, then launched himself across the stream. He just made it across the water and clambered up the other back, staring wildly into the forest beyond.

"Sire?"

"Something out there." Arthur murmured, his mind immediately flying to Cenred's men, who had tracked them before. His hand was on his sword. "Come." Almost as soon as he gave the command he heard Leon splash into the water behind him. "The men stay here." He added.

"Yes, sire." Leon's sword rang a little as he drew it. Doubtless, Arthur thought, Leon was probably recalling the few close calls they had with Cenred's men so far.

They crept through the trees, side by side. Arthur's eyes swept from side to side, desperately hoping they were pursuing a frightened deer or something of the like. We are far into Essetir, Arthur reminded himself, far from any help and far from father. His gut clenched up like it did every time before a battle. If he were wearing his mail shirt he might feel a little braver, but he was forced to leave any indication that he was a warrior, or for that matter royalty, back in Camelot. They were all traveling incognito, in the guise of peasants and craftsmen. There was a rustling ahead of them. Arthur stiffened against a tree and tried to take cover. Arthur spared a glance for Leon, who met his eyes and nodded, similarly posing against a tree.

Above them, a crack rang out.

Arthur whipped his eyes upward. A blur of brown and green, streaking like lighting.

He leapt. Arthur, Leon, and a massive tree branch fell to the ground in sync.

And Arthur, Leon, and the tree branch were incrediably still for a minute or so, staring at each other.

"Well…" Leon sighed from his position beneath Arthur. "That was…"

"Unexpected?" Arthur offered, pulling himself off of Leon and drawing his sword. "Was it just a dead branch?"

Leon remained prone on the ground, covered in leaves, the tree branch laying where he had been standing a minute before. He shook his head. "It is covered in green leaves, sire."

Arthur turned in a slow circle, eyeing their surroundings, and finding the trees just as empty as they were before the bough fell. "This does not feel right, Leon." They had been at this mission for two months now. Arthur and the best knights of Camelot had been tramping around in Essetir, in enemy lands, for two months, stumbling around in search of a myth. A myth that certainly did not exist. Nothing felt right. Arthur longed to be back home, to cease this fool's errand.

"I will admit, sire." Leon was stumbling to his feet now and looking about to see where his sword had fallen. "That log falling," He kicked at the enormous branch to make his point. "Was very unlucky. But it was merely an accident. How could Cenred's men set up such a ridiculous plan- "

Arthur sighed and cut in. "Leon, no." He sheathed he sword, slamming it back into the scabbard. "This whole quest has been cursed from the start." He stepped over the massive branch with some difficulty. "Let us just return back to camp. Make ready to head back to Camelot today."

"Sire" Leon gasped behind him.

"This hunt is over." Arthur insisted.

"But sire!"

"No, Leon!" Arthur whirled around, only to have Leon shove him to the ground. "What-?!"

Arthur soon clamped his mouth shut, teeth clicking, when he saw what Leon was now pointing at; a mop of black hair was bobbing in amongst the trees, moving away from their position.

"Look, sire."

Arthur pushed himself up a little, looking over the branch that had fallen. The person was disappearing into the forest, but not before Arthur caught sight of a brown tunic and a blue kerchief. Arthur clambered over the broken bough and began stalking in the direction the person was going. This was the first person they had seen since Ealdor, since they had entered the forest that the other villagers had called "haunted". Ten days ago, Arthur had considered that a good lead. They were looking for someone who could harness magic, what better place than a forest that was reputed to be haunted? He kept his footsteps quiet and light, just like when he was tracking a deer.

"Is that what you saw earlier, sire, at the stream?" Leon whispered from behind him. He was following just as quietly.

"I believe so, Leon." Arthur muttered over his shoulder. But it did not bode well. Whoever this person was, they had been watching Arthur and his men, maybe even following them too. And as far-fetched as it seemed, they may have orchestrated the branch falling so near them. The fact that he may need to silence someone to protect his own identity worried at Arthur's conscience. He bit his lip and kept following, just able to keep the figure within sight.

Within a few minutes, the person seemed to slow down and it was easier to follow. Arthur and Leon slowed down as well, watching and waiting. Arthur studied the boy, as he could now fully see the figure that had been fleeing the scene earlier. He had a mess of black hair, brown and dirty clothes hung on his frame, a tunic and trousers. The faded blue kerchief fluttered at his thin neck. He carried nothing and occasionally cast his eyes upward to the flashes of blue sky between thick leaves. Eventually a hovel came into view. It was almost invisible until the boy had ducked under the doorway. Arthur frowned, suddenly seeing it. It was tucked into a few large boulders and the small hill they had formed, looking like it had been half naturally occurring and half dug out by hand. Small logs were piled nearby next to a cold, long-ago smothered campfire.

"None of the villagers mentioned anyone living out here. Did not they say this forest was inhabited by spirits?" Leon spoke softly, watching the small cave next to Arthur's shoulder.

The boy left the hovel again and looked to be busy with starting the campfire again. "Mayhap the boy is the spirit they spoke of." Arthur murmured. The lad was piling kindling on the campfire.

"Should we approach?" Leon shifted a little.

They watched the boy stand up and stare down at the pile of wood.

"Wait, we should- " But then Arthur felt a flash of panic fly like lightning through his being.

The kindling had erupted with flames. The boy hadn't touched it. He had simply stared at it.

"By the gods!" Leon choked out. "Did he-?" Words seemed to fail Leon as well.

Was it a trick? Had he blinked? Arthur closed his gaping mouth and swallowed hard. Despite his surprise, he had a job to do.

"Stay." Arthur hissed to Sir Leon. He stood up from his crouch and marched forward.

"You there!" Arthur called, hands limp by his sides.

The boy froze like a doe in the range of his arrow, large eyes wide and unblinking. Arthur finally got a good look at the dirt-smudged face and glimpsed thin, high cheeks and large ears that looked as though the child hadn't grown into them just yet. The boy glanced back at his hovel and then at Arthur again.

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. "I mean you no harm." He spoke loudly and slowly. Arthur held up his hands, knowing to keep them well away from his sword, and trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

The boy did not seem to understand as he promptly yanked a large stick from his roaring campfire and brandished the blackened and glowing red-tipped end towards Arthur. He seemed to back up a little too.

Arthur took another hesitant step towards the boy. He hoped the child was not dumb or deaf, otherwise this would be a difficult conversation. "Are you alone…out here?"

The boy's mouth seemed clamped shut and Arthur could see his teeth worrying at his lower lip. He did not lower the stick.

Arthur sighed and plopped down in the dirt near the campfire, though the heat of it combined with the hot day was making sweat prickle all over his skin. This was ridiculous. His mind was still reeling with the idea that this scrawny brat may be what he had been looking for near two months. And the prospect irritated him. Now that the completion of his quest was staring him in his face, standing right there, Arthur just wanted to get it over with. This was his chance to go home.

"I will not hurt you, I swear it." Arthur spoke slowly again. "I want to talk to you."

He watched Arthur sitting on the ground for a moment. Then the boy slowly lowered the stick but did not relax even a hairsbreadth. His big eyes almost glowed. It must be a trick of the light, the sunlight streaming down from the canopy above must be making the child's eyes look golden. Arthur kept himself very still and was determined to not scare this slip of a thing away. He opened his mouth again to introduce himself.

"Who are you?" The boy croaked.

Arthur frowned at the interruption. He continued. "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, son of King Uther Pendragon. I seek a powerful user of magic."

"M-…Magic is outlawed." The boy stuttered at first and Arthur could tell by the shaking of his thin knees that he was terrified.

"Not so in Camelot, uh… What may I call you?"

The child shook his head and took another few steps backward, away from the fire and away from Arthur. "I should go."

"No!" Arthur reached for the boy. "We want to help you."

The child's eyes flickered to the undergrowth where Leon was hiding. "I need to go." And like a shadow he flickered away, up and over the boulders that formed his hovel, and was gone. Just like that.

"Arse!" Arthur was probably swearing more at himself than the boy that had just dematerialized before his eyes. He scrambled to his feet, running before he was fully standing up, and followed the boy. A rustling behind him told Arthur that Leon was close behind him. "He has bolted!"

"I saw, sire."

They both crested the small hill that the hovel lay under. Damn it all, that runt was fast. Arthur growled as he sprinted. Damn it all! He could just barely see the mop of black hair bouncing in between the trees. He could not let this pipsqueak get away, not if his sorry arse was the key to finally going back to Camelot. The small figure tore through the trees, weaving back and forth. It was all Arthur could do to keep the boy in sight. His lungs burned. Leon sounded just as winded beside him.

Arthur saw the road that he and his knights had been traveling on, two muddy wheel ruts that twisted and turned through the woods. And he spotted a group of men and horses. Arthur squinted. No, those were not his men. Probably a patrol from Cenred, judging by their livery.

And as Arthur sped towards them, he saw the boy run smack into one of the horses. He fell back with a thud. Bloody oaf.

Arthur set his jaw and kept running. He and Leon finally got to the edge of the road, out of breath and slick with sweat. He felt like he was about to vomit.

The boy had startled the horses and men. One had dismounted and had a sword pointed down at the boy lying in the rut of the road. He was pale, sweating like Arthur, and shaking.

Arthur pointed weakly at the child on the ground. "That…" He gasped. "That's- "

The man who held the boy at sword-point looked over at Arthur. He was dressed well in fine clothes and some armor. He wore no helm. "Do you know this ruffian here?"

"Yes, yes" Arthur nodded and struggled to catch his breath. Damn, that child had been fast! "He's mine. My-…my brother, we were just- " Arthur made sure to turn his body so his tunic hid the sword at his side. He hoped Leon was doing the same. It would be strange to see craftsmen with swords, not to mention, carrying one was illegal in some places.

The man with the sword pointed at the boy leaned over and shot out an arm. He wrapped his gloved had about the boy's wrist and hauled him roughly upward and onto his feet.

"Let go!" The boy tried to stomp on the man's foot.

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"This little brat," The man handed the boy's wrist to another soldier beside him and sheathed his sword. "Just assaulted myself and my party. Now, you tell me that he is under your care, you brother, you say?"

"Yes, my lord." Arthur lowered his eyes, assuming that the man would appreciate the title due to some crest he saw but could not place just yet. "He is just a boy, please do not- "

The boy almost shrieked. "Let me go!" And he struggled while the soldier held his arms behind his back.

The nobleman's hand shot out and struck the boy across the face. Blood spurted. Arthur winced. But the boy became silent. And Arthur noticed that Leon had handfuls of Arthur's shirt in his grip and was holding him back. He tried to relax.

"I think we need to take this insolent child back to headquarters so the appropriate punishment may be given. In fact," The man turned back to Arthur and Leon. "I will be requiring all three of you to accompany my company and I. Guards!" He gestured to his men.

They began to move toward Arthur and Leon. And Arthur's mind was blank. What to do? He could not possibly fight them all off. He locked eyes with the boy. It was a dark stare, floating just above a sea of blood. From the boy's nose a river of blood pooled, stark against his pale skin. Arthur's skin crawled. He heard Leon draw his sword. Things were moving too fast.

And suddenly, the men in clinking mail that had been about to grab Arthur and Leon were gone. Screams instead. Arthur blinked. An arrow whizzed by his ear. Leon gripped his shoulder. Half the soldiers were spread over the road, lying prone, rubbing sore limbs. The horses had bolted and their hoofbeats were becoming distant.

Arthur jumped forward and yanked the boy to his feet, pulling him out of the road and into the trees. And the boy complied. He ran alongside him, his face a bloody mess. Arthur saw that it stained his teeth.

A deep thud echoed through Arthur's body. He felt like he had been punched in the arm, hard. He knew he had not though. Looking down at his left shoulder, he saw the barb of an arrow that had gone straight through the meat of his upper arm and pierced through the other side. Not the first time. Gods, but it felt like it. He allowed himself to slow for a moment then regained his pace. It throbbed and all Arthur wanted to do was stop and agonize over it for a few minutes. But they had no time. The shouts behind them were evidence enough of that.

They kept going. Arthur was beginning to feel dizzy. They were following the boy again. They were passing the hovel. Arthur skidded to a stop, grabbing the boy by the arm to stop him as well.

"Halt…" He wheezed, feeling himself leaning a little. "Halt…we- we hide here."

The boy nodded and crawled inside. Arthur followed with Leon behind him.

Arthur was careful not to jostle or knock the arrow that pierced his arm, gritting his teeth and settling down in the small cave. It was a small dwelling with a clean floor, a few candles for light, and a small nest of furs and blankets that were doubtless some sort of a bed. The ceiling was low, only just shorter than the young boy who kept the hovel, and much too short for Arthur, who remaining sitting. Any attempt to stand would earn him a bruised skull. A few herbs hung, bundled, from the low ceiling. Flowers, too.

They all crouched there, listening hard and trying not to pant so loud. They heard voices in the distance, and some drew closer after a while. But it was not long until they faded all together. Arthur was not sure how long they sat there listening.

Arthur sighed. The pain in his arm was growing. The arrow had to come out. He would need help. "Leon- " He began.

"Sire!" Leon hissed and Arthur could feel his right-hand man gently take his arm.

Arthur was certain Leon was being as careful as he could, but still he could not help but yelp a little as the knight moved his arm. Any movement pulled on the pierced muscles in his arm. Gods, it hurt. He felt sweat trickling down the length of his back.

"You are wounded." Leon was inspecting the arrow.

"I had not noticed, Sir Leon." Arthur rolled his eyes a little and he caught sight of the boy, crouched there in the semi-darkness with them. Blood from a doubtless broken nose had run the length of the boy's chin and continued on down his neck, staining the kerchief that was tied there. He was staring at Arthur and Leon. He looked a frightful mess. "Are you alright?" Arthur asked the boy.

"I can not mend this here." Leon muttered. "I need our supplies."

Arthur kept his eyes on the boy. "Go then." He waved a hand toward the entrance of the hovel. "Tell the men. I will wait here with…the boy."

"Are you sure that's wise, sire, he- "

"Hurry, Sir Leon. I would like this bolt out of me soon." Arthur shifted, trying to get comfortable as he leaned on the cave wall.

Leon soon disappeared and left Arthur and the boy alone.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked.

The boy sat with his knees hugged to his chest and remained silent, watching Arthur.

Arthur tried again. "What do you call yourself?"

"Merlin." The child finally whispered. "I'm Merlin."

"Your nose looks broken, Merlin." Arthur gestured towards the boy. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Good. Well, I mean, not about your nose, of course." Arthur sighed. His arm throbbed in time to his heartbeat and the pain made his chest feel tight. If this was what they had been hunting all this time, if Merlin was his quarry, Arthur had no clue what to do next. He had to try to explain that the boy would be safer in Camelot. But he was not sure how to do that. The child was an imbecile. Running away. Picking fights with Cenred's men. And more. How could he reason with a wild, skittish animal?

"I can help…your arm." Merlin whispered.

A little thrill ran down Arthur's spine. "Can you?" He asked.

"Yes."

Arthur knew better than to refuse, even though the sick feeling in his chest told him he would be at the mercy of a child, a child that was very much frightened of him. But this might be a step in gaining Merlin's trust. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Please do." He tried to smile but he could feel it faltering despite himself.

Merlin, covered in dark red blood, crawled closer until he sat beside Arthur. "You won't…you won't arrest me?"

"No, I want to protect you, Merlin. You are in danger here because of your- " Arthur struggled for the right word. "Talents?"

Merlin nodded.

Arthur blinked and all the candles sitting about the cave were suddenly lit. There was a little more light now. He started a little but stayed where he was. Merlin was studying his arm and the arrow that sat embedded in the flesh there.

"I'm gonna break it."

"My arm?!" Arthur squawked.

Merlin smiled for the first time. "The- the pointy bit on the arrow. I'm gonna break that off an- and pull it all out."

Arthur still did not feel quite safe trusting this brat with his royal person. But negotiations sometimes took strange turns. And this might be the act to get the boy's trust. He grit his teeth and told himself he would be home soon. You will be home soon, Arthur. He finally nodded. "Get on with it then."

"Okay." The boy's hands were shaking as he reached towards the shaft.

Arthur felt nothing but the pain when Merlin's hands closed around the arrow and he felt it…ugh…move inside his flesh. Arthur bit his lip. The pain grew along with a ringing in his ears. Something snapped. A lightning bolt. Arthur gasped.

Arthur sat up from a slouch, blinking, taking a deep breath.

"You fainted." Merlin was still sitting beside him, the blood on his chin drying sluggishly. He held up the two pieces of arrow that Arthur supposed had been inside his arm until quite recently.

"I did no such thing." Arthur looked down at his arm. It bled little. But it was enough. "Do you have something I could press to this, to stop the bleeding?" He was beginning to feel a touch nauseous and his head swam if he thought too fast.

"Yes, um, lay down…please?" Merlin set aside the broken arrow.

Arthur complied. The hard-packed dirt floor bore into his back.

Merlin leaned over Arthur's wound. He pulled the sleeve of Arthur's tunic up slowly and gently with small fingers. The dim candlelight fell on the boy's hands as he shifted. Blood-stained hands. In a slight haze, Arthur found that image wrong, that hands so small should not be covered in dark, drying blood. A drop of something warm fell on his wound. Arthur's eyes flickered to it and saw it was a drop of blood. Two more followed, pitter-patting down on Arthur's ruined arm, before Arthur realized that they had come from Merlin's bleeding nose.

"Sorry." Merlin had noticed too and swiped at his nose with his own sleeve before continuing his work. With the sleeve now fully pushed away, Merlin laid his hands on either side of the wound.

"What are you-" Arthur's question died on his lips as he felt his wound, slowly and painfully, knitting back together. His body felt like it was vibrating on the cold, dirt floor. And Merlin seemed to be quivering too. And as soon as it began, it stopped. Merlin rocked back onto his arse, panting, but smiling again. It was something wavering and frightened, but a smile nonetheless.

And Arthur looked at his wound, or where it used to be, and saw nothing but an ugly, circular, white scar. "By the Gods…" He whispered. "How did you-? What did you-?" He couldn't quite get the question out.

"Sire!" Sir Leon's voice from outside reached Arthur's ears.

"I am here!" Arthur called back and looked over at Merlin. The boy looked like a rabbit caught in its burrow, eyes wide. "All will be well, Merlin. I will escort you to Camelot, where you will be safe."

"Are- are you a knight?"

"I am."

"Do you swear…on your honor, a-as a knight?"

"I swear it."

They both crawled out of Merlin's hovel and were met with Arthur's entire company of knights arriving into the small clearing, with Sir Leon at the head.

"I have the bandages, sire." Leon set a saddlebag down and beckoned to Arthur.

Arthur looked down at Merlin. The brat had better not bolt again. Merlin looked pale and shaky, covered in a sheen of sweat. His face still stark red with blood and a black eye was sluggishly forming on that small face. But he gave Arthur a nod. Arthur sighed inwardly with relief. "No need, Leon. Our friend Merlin has patched me up quite nicely."

Leon looked up from his unpacking, staring at Merlin, as were all the other men and knights. All noise died down, voices fell silent.

"Camelot and I are indebted to Merlin. We will escort him back to Camelot, unharmed, where he will be safe from those that would do him harm." He addressed his men. "I suggest we travel as far as we can today and make camp at sundown. We go home, to Camelot." Arthur watched as smiles erupted over the faces of his companions. He was glad that they were glad. They were going home. Arthur called a soldier over and ordered him to make a packhorse ready for Merlin to ride and to help the boy clean his face, making sure Merlin followed the soldier's lead.

Once Merlin was across the cleaning, out of earshot, Leon spoke. "Are you sure, Sire, that he is the one we are looking for?"

Arthur rolled up his sleeve and showed Sir Leon the pale, white scar on his arm. "He healed me, Leon, without so much as an incantation or herbs or potions or anything." Arthur watched the skinny, pale boy mount a packhorse. "We have found Emrys. Father will be pleased."


	2. The Dawn

It was happening again.

Every morn he woke up to the sun and to cool air and to his mama's smile so close as they shared that one thin blue blanket that never seemed to altogether fall apart into shreds like so many other things do.

He woke up and he could not breathe. This time he was waking up and he was falling apart. It was happening again. There were shouts, coming from outside. He could not stop coughing. Someone was hitting the door hard. There were screams and a woman was making them. "Help us!" She shrieked. Too loud. "The door, help us!" She was screaming too loud.

Mama!

She took his face in her hands, arms around him. "Merlin!" She was shouting but her voice was soft against all the noise. There was a roar all around them. And Mama was pushing him to the ground, bellies on the dirt floor. It was hot, so hot. They coughed together. He couldn't stop. He couldn't breathe. Had the firepit made all this smoke? All this smoke? It smelled bad. The men were still shouting.

"Ma- Mam!" He tried to say it. Couldn't do it.

"It's okay." Her lips were pressed on his ear, pressed hard, he could feel her words.

A thick roar and crackling. A big fire.

"It's okay." Mama said.

He couldn't breathe. It was so dark. The crackling of a big fire. She was pulling him to the wall, to his little burrow that he had made. The dirt floor was uneven there, had always been, and he had made a hole between the rough wall of the house and the ground. He kept wriggling through it, day after day. Making it bigger. It was his secret passageway to the outside when his Mama wasn't looking. Making his mama mad.

"You will bring the house down!" She had squawked one day, hitting him with a wooden spoon as he slithered. But he always got out. He was so much smaller than her.

She pulled him to that little hole. She pushed him into the little hole. The house was crackling. The house was a big fire. So hot. Mama. He grabbed her hand, pulling his with him. She pushed him away. Mama! The blue blanket was on fire. Turning black. So hot. Mama pushed him through the hole. Mama pushed him away. The flames licking the wall seared his back. White hot. He screamed. He heard himself scream. Shirt in flames. He could feel it. His back was a fire, skin a blistering coal, burning. He was a burning leaf. Crackling. He writhed and flailed. Everything he touched hurt. He scrambled to get away. To just get away.

He was out. The grass was covered in dew, dew waiting for the morn. He rolled in it, the flames died and smothered on the ground. He could breathe. Barely. He covered his mouth. He waited. His burned back throbbed. Throbbed in time with his heart.

Mama!

Beams cracked and broke. The house crumbled like a hot coal.

MAMA!

The shouts of men. Grasping hands. Not mama's hands. And Merlin ran. Like running through water. Like running through a rushing stream, water pulling you back and back and back. It was so hard. He was so tired. Each stride pulled on his cooked skin, tearing at it. The hands were reaching for him. Taking his wrist, snatching his ankle, and he shook them off. Hands kept grabbing.

He couldn't breathe. He still couldn't breathe. He was out of the flames but he still couldn't breathe.

* * *

Leon had broken his nose before, so this time he was pretty sure it wasn't broken. But damn it all, did it hurt! He blinked back tears, eyes still watering profusely from the pain. When he pulled the cloth away from his nose, he noted that the volume of blood had decreased. Finally. He stood, steadied himself against the tree upon which he had been leaning, and began picking his way around the campfire to his lord. His sore muscles were tight in protest of his movements, but Leon ignored it.

"Leon." The prince grunted his greeting from a spot by the fire. He was poking at the burning kindling with a stick and staring into the flames.

Leon noted the apparent sour mood and sat down beside the prince with a little more care. There was no use in poking the bear any more than necessary. "Sire." He returned the greeting. His voice was a little nasally and he tried not to smile at the sound of it because smiling hurt.

"How is your nose?" Prince Arthur asked, tossing the stick on the fire and sighing.

Leon shrugged. "It will mend." His nose dribbled blood a little and he quickly dabbed it away. "It was just a glancing blow."

The sky rumbled from far off. A storm may be on the way. Though to be fair, Leon reasoned as he eyed the prince's dark, furrowed brow, there was a storm here already.

"A glancing blow?" His lord scoffed, voice raised enough to make some of the other men stir in sleep. "He kicked you full in the face, like a bloody horse."

Leon had seen what a horse kick could do and it was not something he would talk about lightly. He had seen a stableboy in his father's stables kicked straight in the head by a skittish horse while the child was just mucking out the stall. He and Leon had been the same age around then, about ten seasons. The kick Leon had received to his nose just now was not even a close to that. It had been enough to make his nose start bleeding and start a bruise under his left eye. But it was not bad, no, what had come after was a little worse.

"And then he tossed you across the fire, just like that," Prince Arthur pointed out Leon's previous trajectory. "Like a rag doll." The prince rubbed at tired eyes with his fingers. "I never want to see that again as long as I live." Leon heard him mutter.

Leon was inclined to agree. He knew well now that he was not meant for flying. "I am fine, Sire. Nothing broken, only bruised. My landing was…soft."

"I doubt Sir Bedivere would agree." The prince said through gritted teeth.

Leon winced. "He is only bruised as well."

His lord lowered his voice and turned to Leon, firelight glinting off his eyes. "Now they are all afraid of him."

Leon felt that the statement, 'And so am I.' Was there, but not spoken by his lord. The Prince was not expected to be scared of anything. Stupid, Leon thought, even princes are human. He bit his lip and thought a moment.

"Sire." Sir Leon said finally. "May I speak freely?"

The Prince gave a short nod. "Yes."

"He is just a boy-"

"Well, that boy just flung a man twice his size into…" Prince Arthur trailed off. Leon had caught the Prince's eye and he closed his mouth quickly. "I apologize, please continue."

"He is just a boy and he is very much scared of us, that is obvious. We look and act like men who have probably hunted him before now." Leon paused and chose his words carefully. He was speaking to a Prince, but also to his friend. "I do not think tying him up and treating him as a prisoner will help… things."

"He tried to run away!" The Prince squawked. One of the men sat up suddenly and his lord sighed. "Sorry." He lowered his voice. "You saw, you were on watch. We had to drag him back here." Some of the other knights and soldiers rolled over and shifted as they slept.

Leon allowed himself to roll his eyes since it would be too dark to see his exasperation. "I spooked him, Sire. He was having a dream, a bad one, and I woke him." The poor boy had sounded so pitiful. It was when the child had muttered the word 'mama' that Leon's heart twisted tight and painful in his chest. He had then crept over to wake him from the nightmare. "It was all an accident."

The Prince was silent for a minute or so. Leon looked over to where the packhorses were tethered and spotted the young boy, lying on the ground, tethered as well. Beasts of burden. From farther away now, some distant thunder. The storm must be passing them by.

Prince Arthur cleared his throat. "The fact remains that he has now proved himself a danger to us. I cannot allow him to put my men in harm's way." And his lord sighed before running a hand through his messy hair and some of the locks stood straight up, held together with the grime and grease of many days on the road. None of them had had a proper bath or change of clothes for months now. "What if it had been worse, Leon, what happened to you? I can't… The principle of it… I cannot do nothing." The prince was touching his arm, fingers rubbing the spot there where the arrow had pierced him a day ago, and staring into the fire. Leon had seen the white scar. It was amazing.

"Let me go to him." Leon leaned towards Arthur, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Let him be untied. You must show him trust and he will come around. He healed your wound, he has a good heart."

"I do not think that is a good idea."

"I will look after him."

Arthur frowned at Leon. "You swear to it."

Leon took a breath. "I swear I will keep him in check."

Arthur sighed. But he did not look away once from Leon's gaze. It wasn't a hard stare, but it was relentless. After a minute or two, he nodded. "Untie him." He slapped Leon's shoulder.

Leon grimaced. His flight earlier had landed him on that side of his body.

Arthur continued. "You two can take watch until dawn. We start moving then. If we keep up a fast pace we should reach Camelot by- Oh!" Arthur saw Leon's flinch of pain. "Sorry."

Leon stood. "Just bruises there, Sire."

"I am sorry, Leon."

"Thank you, sire. Get some sleep." Leon began walking towards where the packhorses were tied.

Prince Arthur laid down on his bed roll near the fire.

Leon let out a long sigh as he approached the boy. "Hello." He crouched by the stake where the boy's bonds were affixed.

Merlin sat up with a start and inched away from Leon as far as he could. His wrists were bound together and then those bonds were given a little length of rope and tied to a stake in the ground. Merlin shied away just enough to make that rope taut and he could go no further. The dim light from the campfire gave Leon an impression of the boy's face. Tear tracks, shining in the firelight, ran down his dirty cheeks. His small nose was still swollen and purple, those dark shadowy bruises also passed from the bridge of his nose to rest under each eye. And he was thin. Too thin. Like a good stiff breeze might up and spirit him away.

"We match now." Leon pointed to his own nose, and smiled a painful smile. Worth it, though.

Merlin eyed him. "You aren't angry?"

"It was my fault. I scared you." And Leon added. "I am sorry."

Merlin looked over to the campfire, over to where Arthur now slept. "He was angry."

"He was just worried." Leon reached over and began to untie the rope at the stake. "Sometimes it looks like people are angry, but they are just scared too." The rope was loosed from the stake and Leon almost reached towards Merlin but he caught himself. He stayed very still. It was not worth spooking the child again when he had come this far. "May I untie your hands?"

It took Merlin a moment to crawl closer to Leon and hold out his bound hands. But he eventually did. He was slow and careful, watching the knight the entire time. But Leon felt that this was progress. Leon began attacking the knots that held Merlin's thin, delicate wrists together. "I wish they had not restrained you." Leon admitted as he worked. "But the prince was just trying to protect his men, you understand that, do you not?"

Merlin nodded silently, eyes on the ground.

Leon finally finished with the knots and the rope fell away. "You are not going to run away again, will you?"

Merlin shook his head.

A pause. Then the boy spoke. "Why me? I'm just a…I'm not…" Merlin shrugged. "Why?" He seemed to fold in on himself, like a dry leaf.

Leon opened his mouth, then closed it again. 'I am not sure myself', Leon almost told the boy.

The errand they had been given, the quest, was of the utmost secrecy. Only the Prince, the King, and the King's councilmen knew exactly what they were looking for and why. They were to find a user of magic, a powerful one, and bring them back here. And doubtless it was not supposed to be just any magic-user. It was supposed to be someone named Emrys. Or it was "an Emrys". That, Leon was not clear on. Prince Arthur seemed to think that this 'Merlin" was an, or the, 'Emrys'. Leon had expected a wizened old man or crone, someone who had been practicing magic for years. Or, he had anticipated another Druid, like the ones that inhabited the woods around Camelot and sat on Uther's councils. He had not imagined a boy barely older than twelve seasons, if that at all. But Leon could not muster up the will to say all that. Besides, the child would barely understand it.

He finally spoke. "We are here to see you to safety." Leon tossed the rope that had bound the boy aside and got comfortable in the grass, stretching out his sore legs. One knee clicked, an old injury, and Leon was reminded of it every time his knee settled into place. He rubbed the joint. "Each and every one of us wants you to arrive in Camelot, alive and well. But we cannot protect you if you run off. Cenred's men are everywhere here. In Camelot your talents are understood… respected. But here, they do not want to understand you. They are afraid of you and they will hurt you."

"I know." Merlin whispered.

Leon hesitated. "Have you… have they hurt you before?"

Merlin was now rubbing his wrists and staring at the ground. "They…they…my mama. I couldn't…" The boy closed his eyes. Screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip. Leon almost reached out and hugged the child. "I couldn't help her." Merlin whispered.

Mama

And Leon heard again how the boy had whispered it in his sleep and he shuddered. And that one word played in his head. Over and over again. Poor boy.

"Merlin." Leon sighed. Over the dark shapes of the trees he could see the sky beginning to lighten. Dawn was coming. His eyes were itching for sleep but he was not going to get it. That was just fine. It was fine. "Merlin?" He spoke again.

Leon met the boy's eyes and noticed that he could see the color, a deep blue. The same kind of deep blue that moved across the night sky as it yielded to the golden dawn. The same kind of gold that flashed in Merlin's eyes when he woke from his nightmare and kicked Leon in the face. The gold, luminous and bright, that had sent Leon flying, weightless for a few brief moments. Night, yielding to dawn.

So Leon tried. He reached out, slow and careful, hand extended through space, he reached towards Merlin. And he rested his hand on the boy's thin, bony shoulder. Merlin did not flinch away. He stayed still. Every so often, he would tremble or shake. Leon could maybe hear soft sobs. But he waited, squeezed the boy's shoulder, and waited. The sun rose. Dawn arrived. It always did.


	3. The Hole

"It does not make sense." Arthur grumbled. "None of it does."

"Perhaps it is something to do with how his magic works, sire."

"Yes, but-" Arthur found that his voice had risen a little too far and he looked back at the others briefly. No one seemed to have heard him. "Yes, but…" He started again, leaning in, his words quieter now. "Would it not be easier to heal yourself rather than someone else? I mean, the typical sorcerer knows his own body best of all. All I am saying is that it is strange that he has decidedly not healed his obviously broken nose…obviously." Arthur shrugged, leaning away from Leon again. "That is all."

"Yes, sire." Leon nodded, looking at the road ahead.

"It is odd." Arthur could not explain the strange goosebumps he got when he touched the tender white scar on his shoulder. The thing still throbbed softly, like it was a memory of a wound rather than a healed one. His horse shook its head, stirring him from his thoughts as they walked along the road. Neither horse nor Arthur liked the slow pace that they were restricted to today. We're both impatient, Arthur thought. But all the horses were tired and to press them too hard could be dangerous. So they walked, some men leading their horses, some sitting atop.

"Perhaps," Arthur watched Leon speak, the other man's gaze never leaving the road ahead as they plodded along. "He used it up, the magic, on your wound and had none left for himself." There were dark circles under the knight's eyes.

"Ah." Arthur had not thought of that and he felt his ears redden. Was with it shame? And if it was, was it from preventing a child from healing his own nose, or just from simply not coming to that conclusion first. He was not sure. But still! That was a few days ago. So if it was true, then why had not the boy…recovered… resupplied? Well, it had been a while, so why had not the boy's magic come back already and let him heal himself? It was a good question, he supposed.

"But it has been days, Leon." Arthur sighed and shifted in his saddle. "You would think….that by now…"

"I do not know, sire."

"Yes, well." Arthur huffed. "Neither do I. I confess I do not understand magic at all."

"I know, sire."

Arthur frowned. Tempted to tell Leon not to be smart. But he swallowed that.

Everyone was tired, not just the horses. They had been traveling for two days now at a strong pace and the reasons were twofold: first, to arrive back at Camelot all the sooner; and second, so as not to be caught by Cenred's men again, who were now most certainly looking for them after that altercation on the road two days prior. And the boy could not fall into Cenred's hands. Arthur could not afford to lose the one thing they had worked so hard to find. Not now.

Up ahead on the dusty road, a man stepped from the trees on the right side and stood there, unmoving. Arthur felt his heart stutter and then a wash of something that felt like snowmelt flooded through his body. Despite this obvious fear, a little thrill ran down his back. We will see where this goes. We will see, indeed. To the side of the dirt road, a little hidden by the grasses and bushes, sat a two-wheeled cart… without an animal to pull it.

Leon pulled on his reins slightly. "What is-"

Arthur leaned over, keeping his eyes on the man, and stopped with Leon. He kept his voice low. "Get the men mounted. String the bows. Be ready."

"Sire?"

"Ambush."

"Cenred?"

"Probably not." He did not know. But that was not worth saying. "Have no fear, Leon." Arthur then turned and smiled, waving at the man in front of them. "Yes, yes, I see you, you twit." He spoke softly between gritted teeth then clapped Leon on the shoulder. "Do it. Now." Then he dismounted. He left his horse and he walked towards the man.

As Arthur drew close to the man, he shot a glance over at the cart that lay by the wayside. Empty. It was an empty cart. No product or produce in sight. Arthur fixed a grin on the man. "Hello there. Your beast ran off?"

The man mopped his brow and nodded. "'Fraid so, damned animal." He was average-sized and perhaps a little on the thin side. His oval-shaped face shone with a sheen of sweat and his slightly-balding head glistened too. He had been out in the sun awhile, Arthur could tell this, if not from the sweat, then from the slight sunburn. His boots looked nice though. Expensive too. "Was looking to get some help gettin' my wares to the fair just up the way there. Would you part with a horse for a few hours?"

Arthur smiled and nodded. "The fair?"

"Aye."

"I have to say." Arthur put his hands on his hips and looked back at his party, briefly, before facing the man again. He lowered his voice, leaning in. "You are the worst bandits I have ever seen."

"Wha-"

"No, no, please do not try to explain." Arthur held up his hands, shushing the man. "I'm not sure who came up with this idiotic plan, but I think you should fire him right away. He is a terrible asset to your operation." He put his hands on his hips again and fingered the small dagger he kept there, hidden by his shirt and tucked into his trousers.

The man was about to give some signal. Keep him off balance. Keep him spinning. It was about time to act. The man raised a hand.

Arthur grabbed it. Gripped it. Swung around. He pinned it and took the bandit about the neck. Knife to belly. Arthur tightened his arm about the throat and pressed the blade hard into soft flesh of the stomach.

Things like this were so easy without armor. He moved faster without armor. And his enemies were bodies covered in weak spots. Too easy.

"Do not dare." Arthur faced down the road towards his party, keeping the man in front of his own body. A shield, if you will, in lieu of his own shield, which was back in Camelot. And he was taking slow steps backwards down the road. "Not a word." He growled.

The bandit put his hands up. "We-" He choked, coughed, continued. "We have you on all sides."

Arthur kept walking backwards, just about dragging the man along with him. Gods, the pitiful man was not even trying to resist. Or maybe he was. Arthur could not quite tell. If he was, he was doing a piss-poor job of it. "Yes, that was one of my qualms that I wanted to talk to you about." Arthur dug the blade in just enough to draw a little blood. He could not see how much, but judging by the bandit's gasp, it was just enough. "Tell them to come on out and let us see how many you have."

"Shoot! Shoot h-"

Arthur tightened his grip and the man began clawing at his throat for air with his one free hand. The other hand, the one that Arthur held by the wrist, struggled and shook. He kept stepping back, eyes on the trees now on either side. He hoped he was a little farther down from their positions, wherever they may be,.

"Honestly." Arthur muttered. "Who taught you how to steal? Other dead bandits?"

"Let him go!"

A few archers slid out of the trees now, on both sides. Bows were strung and arrows nocked. Other men too. Poorly dressed and brandishing a club or two, maybe a knife here and there. Arthur quickly took count. Five…eight…maybe about ten? Or ten that he could see. Ten for ten. Evenly matched. Still an even match was not preferred. In fact, he preferred to grossly outnumber the would-be-bandits. But such was life.

"There you are!" Arthur nodded at some of the archers. "Was wondering where your friends were." He poked the man in the belly again with his dagger. Arthur, still walking backwards to keep the bandit in front of his own body as a shield for arrows, raised his voice in order to be heard by everyone. "We will be taking this man with us as insurance! Loose an arrow, raise a blade, and I will not hesitate to kill him!"

Silence.

"Leon!"

The knight nodded at Arthur.

"We leave now."

And the group of men and horses started forward, towards Arthur. He watched them approach and loosened his grip on the bandit's throat. He did not let go however. The man sucked in a breath, coughing again. Arthur kept his eyes on the archers. Hopefully, these men valued the bandit he had at knifepoint, valued him enough to not risk his life. Arthur's men had almost caught up with him. Almost there. Then they would take this bandit with them up the road a ways, let him go, then gallop on their way. Out of this hellhole of a kingdom and finally back to Camelot. Almost there.

Something caught. Something was wrong. A scuffle. The horses stopped. Men turned. Voices.

Leon's voice. "Merlin!"

Arthur saw something shift. The small body detached itself. It ducked out of the group. Ducked under horses' legs. And the boy ran. He ran like a rabbit. At a sprint. Away from the party. He made for the trees! The bandits turned their bows. Pulled back. Arrows flew. Arrows straight at his quarry.

Men shouted. His or theirs? Arthur was not sure. Maybe he was shouting. Arrows flew. Swords were drawn.

Arthur buried his dagger in the man he held. Buried it deep. And again. Then tossed the body to the side.

Arrows flew. Bandits ran after the boy. Bandits ran after his quarry.

"Merlin!"

\----------------

He ran. And he ran and he ran. It had been too much. It had been so much to see and hear and he had to go or he was going to explode in fire. He didn't want to explode. Those bad men all around. All over again. He wanted to breathe. But he couldn't breathe with all those scary men standing there pointing arrows at him all over again. It was happening again. It was happening again so fast. It could have been over. The nice men told him it was over. But it wasn't over. He wasn't safe. He was never safe. He knew it. And knowing it made him shake and burn. He felt like he was going up in flames. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was out of the fire but he still couldn't breathe. Had to go back to the hole. No one saw him in the hole.

So Merlin ran. The nice men called for him. They said his name. It was odd. They screamed it. But it was nice to hear his name. He hadn't heard his name in years. Now he couldn't get enough of it. They shouted and it almost made him stop. But he didn't. Already going. Already going back to safety.

Merlin could hear the arrows whistling after him. He leapt into the trees. The shade and the brambles and the trunks of trees to hide behind. Better. This was better. He didn't stop though. He was already going.

The nice men would understand. It was too much. He had to go.

Others were following him. The not nice men were following him.

His name again. He heard it again. The less nicer of the nice men called it. Called it like he was scared. It was a nice name. His mother had said that a Merlin was a kind of bird. He had used to wish that. Wishing he was a bird. Birds could just fly away from all the problems on the ground. Like arrows. And fire. And bad men. And nice men. Birds had nests to hide in, way up in the tops of trees. Birds were safe. But he was a Merlin and he wasn't safe. It wasn't fair.

Merlin ran and ran. His chest burned from breathing. In and out. He had a stick in his side. He flew past trees and trees and more trees. He leapt over a stream. His feet sunk deep in the sand and mud. The trees flew by. Why couldn't he just fly? The bad men, the bandits, crashed though the brush behind him. Sometimes close, sometimes far behind. The arrows stopped. He leapt over a fallen tree. Glanced back. A bad man was still there. He was there behind him. Close. Too close.

And Merlin caught his foot. Twisting and wrenching. He went down. The ground rushed up. The sky slammed into view. Above him. He couldn't breathe. Ankle on fire. Chest on fire. World on fire. The man caught him. Caught him up in one hand, took Merlin's shirt, pulled him up.

"Please." Merlin whispered. He couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes.

And he fell to the ground again. Pain again. Shot up his leg.

A man screamed.

Merlin opened his eyes.

The blonde knight, Sir Arthur, sat atop the bad man. He had a knife. The bad man had a knife. They both had knives, rolling around in the leaves. Merlin wanted to get up. He tried. Nothing. Body wouldn't move. Ankle throbbed. The heartbeat of it pulsed up his leg, up into his stomach, making it rebel.

Sir Arthur's knife flashed. And it flashed again. Like lightning into the other man. Up and down. Over and over again. Merlin was sick on the forest floor and, with shaking arms, pushed himself until he was sitting up.

The bad man wasn't moving now. Arthur sat on the ground too. He was panting. Red in the face. Staring at him. Staring at Merlin.

The bandit man was bleeding everywhere. Merlin coughed. His mouth was sour and he tried to spit out the taste on the ground. He couldn't. "You…you hurt him."

Sir Arthur nodded. He breathed hard through his nose. He did the same thing when the arrow had pierced his arm. "Yes. He was going to hurt you."

Merlin felt the earth move under him a little. Dizzy and hot. His stomach fluttered. And he looked to his ankle. A touch and he nearly gagged again. Swollen. Very swollen. "Thank you." He tried to say it, but it came out a whisper.

Sir Arthur was standing now. "What?"

"Thank you."

"Come on." Merlin noticed the horse. Sir Arthur had ridden here. And Sir Arthur was checking the saddle. "The others will be ahead at the next village, if they escaped. They are waiting for us and we must catch up to them." He held out a hand to Merlin. "I will help you up. Hurry."

Merlin clawed his way to standing. He thought. He hoped it was standing. The earth moved. Funny. He didn't know he could make the earth move. Hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin?"

"My foot."

The knight ducked down. Rolled up the trouser leg. He said something loudly. Must be a bad word.

"Might be broken…do you know?"

Something told Merlin the pain wasn't in the bones. It wasn't bone pain. "No."

"No what? You don't know?"

What? Merlin swallowed hard. Sir Arthur was lifting him. And now he was in the saddle, high up on the horse. Strange. "Umm, no, not broken." He mumbled. The words were funny and he couldn't quite make them right.

"Good." Sir Arthur got on behind him. And they were off.

Some time passed. The sun had been at noon. Now it was starting to set.

Merlin felt Sir Arthur sigh behind him when they found the road. They passed by the bandits. Dead in the road.

"Why did you run?"

Merlin started. "Hmm?" He looked up at the man. He saw the underside of his jaw very well.

The knight stared ahead. "Why did you run?" Asked Sir Arthur. "We were about to go free and you ran, like an idiot."

Idiot. That wasn't a nice word. "I'm not an idiot."

"Yes, you are." A pause. "Why did you run? You were almost killed. You put lives in danger." The horse's pace quickened. "Why did you do it?"

Funny. Merlin had wondered why no one else ran. How did they just stand there? How did none of them feel like they were vibrating and their skin was crawling and there were flames in their chest whenever they tried to breathe? And…and… What should he say? Would he call him idiot again? Better to just keep his mouth shut. Better to just be quiet.

The knight nudged Merlin's shoulder. "Well?"

"I dunno."

"Why did you run, Merlin? You disobeyed and broke rank." A hand gripped his shoulder.

He felt like disobeying, and breaking whatever rank was, again. Right now. Right now he needed to. He felt his body shaking.

"I don't-… I don't know… umm."

"Were you scared?"

Was he? He couldn't remember being scared. He could only remember needing to run. He had to run.

"Y-yes. I couldn't…I was scared."

Sir Arthur grunted and spat something onto the ground as they trotted. "Well, don't be. You listen to what I say, and I will get you safe to Camelot."

Don't be scared.

The sun was gone. It was dark when they found a village at the end of the road. Arthur slipped off the horse. Pulled Merlin down too. The ground hit his foot hard and Merlin gasped. Pain. Pain like lightning up his leg.

"It is just a sprain. Hush." Sir Arthur took Merlin by the arm and led him, and the horse, to a hut.

Inside there was a fire and many of the men that Merlin had traveled with for the past few days. Sir Arthur's men. Some looked hurt. Some looked really hurt. Merlin's stomach twisted into another knot. Sir Arthur pushed Merlin into sitting down by the small fire pit. Merlin edged away from the flames. They were too hot. Merlin closed his eyes. Sir Arthur was talking. Talking to someone. Merlin bowed his head. Sir Arthur was almost shouting. Too many people around. Too much fire. Merlin pushed himself up, stood. He swayed. Or did the earth move again?

"Merlin."

His name. Good to hear his name.

Sir Leon was there. He looked down at Merlin. A hand resting on his shoulder.

"Merlin, are you okay?"

"Go…be sick."

A moment later, Merlin was outside. Much better. Much cooler. On hands and knees in the grass. Retching and retching. Nothing was coming up. Just gagging and fire. Fire in his belly. Fire on his brow. And Sir Leon's hand rubbing circles in his back.

"I'm sorry." Merlin sat back.

"Sorry for what?" Leon reached. He used Merlin's kerchief to wipe something from the boy's mouth.

"I was an idiot."

Sir Leon might have chuckled. Did he think he was an idiot too? Did everyone? "How so?"

"I ran."

"You need some rest." Leon's hand inched towards Merlin's ankle. "Arthur said that-"

Merlin pulled his leg away. Away and away from Leon's hand. "I'm sorry."

"Does your ankle-"

"Merlin." That was Sir Arthur's voice.

Merlin looked up. The blond knight was standing in the doorway of the hut. Light of the fire was behind him.

"Come, I need you to heal some of the men."

Heal…the men? How could he…? What was he…? Merlin opened his mouth.

Sir Leon stood up, stood up over Merlin. "Arthur." He said. His voice was low. "He's exhausted, he can't-."

"Owain's dying." Sir Arthur beckoned to Merlin. "Come on, hurry."

Sir Leon must have helped Merlin. He wasn't sure how he stood again. But there he was. On his two feet, facing Sir Arthur. He nodded. Followed him inside, limping. He limped over to the man Sir Arthur crouched by. In the fire's light, all the sweat on his forehead stood out. It shone. He had no shirt. His stomach exposed. He shook with every breath. Blood caked around a hole in the chest. Wet redness dribbled out with each shuddering breath. In and out. In and sometimes out. And each breath sounded like the last one he would take. Rattling noises.

"Help him." Arthur told Merlin.

Merlin stared at the hole. He hid in holes. He couldn't hide in this one. This wasn't a safe hole. A hole that needed to be filled in. When you dug up a root. You had to put the root back, cover the hole. You had to do it to let the plant keep growing. To help it keep living. Just filling in the hole.

"Merlin."

Merlin started and why were there tears in his eyes? His lip quivered. He placed both hands on the man. He shuddered like a small bird under Merlin's touch. Placed both hands on the man, one on each side of the hole. And he reached. He reached deep down into the man. Felt that life, felt that root. He had to help him. He was dying. He had to help. He reached and reached. The damage done and the blood that flowed. The ribs were full of bad things. Merlin tried. He tried so hard. His whole body prickled with sweat. His ears rang. He reached. Fill in the hole. Just help the man. Idiot. Everything spun. He couldn't breathe.

Merlin fell back, gasping. The man had stopped moving. No more shuddering. No more breathing. He was dead.

"I'm sorry."

He heard Sir Arthur's voice. "Why could not you help him? You healed me!" The words were from far away.

I'm sorry. Everything faded away.

"What use are you if you cannot even do this?!"

Someone caught him. I'm sorry.


	4. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted the dream sequence that preceded the scenes in Chapter 2. It is a Merlin POV and gives him a little more backstory. Please feel free to go back and read it. Thank you.

Leon was about a moment away from striking his lord and only Leon's firm but reluctant grip on respect kept the Prince safe. Mother had always taught him, words before actions. Think first. Talk about it. Then act. Well, he had thought about it long and hard and had come to the conclusion that a swift blow to the Prince's stomach would be quite satisfying. Leon felt he could skip the discussion stage and move straight to the physical violence. Yes, that sounded about right. All this was running through his head as Merlin lay half on his lap, curled up, and quaking.

"What is wrong with him?" Prince Arthur stood up from his squat; he had been sitting beside Leon and Merlin a moment ago. "I asked a simple question." The Prince stood by the doorway to the hut and looked outside, leaning on the frame, arms crossed. The rest of the knights were outside, preparing horses, gathering supplies, digging…

Leon looked back down to the boy in his lap and touched the child's shoulder. "Merlin." He murmured. "Merlin, you have to sit up. I'm going to look at your ankle."

The boy did as he was asked, eyes on the ground.

"It is not right." The Prince spoke again, still staring out of the doorway. "To be buried in a nameless town in enemy territory. What will I tell his mother? His wife?"

Leon listened to the Prince's ramblings while he gently took Merlin's ankle in his hands. The morning light that poured though the open doorway of the hut let him now see the damage done a little better than last night. The swelling had gone down a little but the limb was mottled with blue and purple bruising now. He looked back up to Merlin's face. The boy was watching him, shifting every so often, fidgeting.

Would he ever relax?

But Leon nodded at Merlin and smiled a little. "I'm going to wrap-"

"What do you think, Leon? About the spot for… for Owain?"

Leon glanced at his Prince. The young man was wiping his cheeks and clearing his throat as he turned around to face them.

Leon sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "We are in a difficult situation. We could not carry his body with us, not at the rate we need to travel." His lord seemed to need some approval and this was the best he could give at the moment. Leon turned back to Merlin. The ankle needed to be-

Prince Arthur spoke again. "Has he answered yet, about his family?" He settled down on the floor across from Leon and Merlin, the small, dying fire sat between them.

"No, he has not." Leon unrolled the long strip of cloth he had prepared last night. It had come from his spare tunic, now just a bunch of spare rags. Leon gently lifted Merlin's foot again and set it in his lap.

The Prince spoke across the fire. "Ask him-"

"Ask him yourself." Leon hissed. "My lord." He added quickly afterward and sighed. "I'm a little distracted. I have to wrap this sprain before we leave." Thankfully, the Prince shut up. Leon tapped Merlin's shin gently to get the boy's attention. "Merlin, this may hurt a little, alright?"

The boy nodded.

"But you have to stay still."

And Merlin nodded again. The boy was pale and sweaty, the purple of his bruised nose even more faded now, but there were dark circles under his eyes. When he was not nodding at Leon or glancing at Arthur, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ground. Leon smiled at the child once more before taking the small foot in his hands and beginning to wrap the cloth around it. Merlin winced.

"Merlin." The Prince spoke from across the embers of the fire pit. "Where is your family?"

Leon bit his lip but kept his eyes on his work.

Minutes passed. The hut was silent.

"This is useless." The Prince stood up again.

"I'm sorry!" Merlin was clutching his shin tightly, probably trying to keep himself from grabbing at his swollen ankle. "My mama… She's gone." His eyes were squeezed shut as Leon wound the cloth about the bruised ankle. He let go of his shin but did not stop fidgeting.

"Gone?" Prince Arthur repeated.

You idiot.

Leon felt that he knew the answer before the child even opened his mouth. He thought back to that nightmare. He thought back to that small voice that called for 'mama' into the dark night. He shuddered.

"She's dead." Merlin reached around and scratched at his back for a minute. "She's dead." He repeated.

"My apologies, Merlin, and my condolences." The Prince responded, sitting back down.

Leon highly doubted that young Merlin knew either of those pretty words, but he seemed to understand what the Prince meant. And the Prince seemed to mean what he said. So that was something. Leon looked up a moment and noticed that his lord was watching Merlin too. The man's jaw was set.

The boy nodded. His eyes watched Leon's hands work, wrapping his ankle. Watched the cloth move back and forth. The hut slid into silence again.

"And there is no one else? No other family, or friends?" The Prince asked.

Merlin shook his head. "No, uh-" He twitched as Leon pulled the cloth tight again. "No one liked us." He scratched at his back. "They burned our home. So,… I ran."

'So, I ran.'

And still do, Leon mused, every chance you get. It was no wonder the child was so skittish. He had probably been running since his mother passed. Running scared and constantly hiding. Alone in the world. His heart ached. Leon drew in a deep breath and let it out again. Made his chest hurt to do that; all the bruises from his flight a few days ago. No matter. Bruises would heal. The sprain would heal. The wrapping was almost done. The boy was almost safe. They just had to get back to Camelot.

"Who burned your home down?" The low fire crackled softly as Prince Arthur poked the embers, sending sparks up.

Leon felt the boy flinch under his hands as the sparks flew. Strange… He had done the same thing last night.

"Men in armor came to our village, on horses." Merlin murmured. "I saw them do it. They hunted me in the woods."

Leon thought back to the outfit of knights they had met by accident when they first found Merlin. They had been riding through the woods that Merlin lived in. Perhaps they had a reason to be there. Perhaps they had heard the same rumors that the knights of Camelot had been pursuing.

"How long ago?" The Prince spoke again.

"What?"

"How long ago did you run away? How long have you been…" The Prince frowned a moment, the continued. "On your own?"

Merlin looked from Leon to Arthur a few times. "Uh…" His fingers traced designs in the dirt floor. "I dunno. I was little. Maybe…" And the child's eyes drifted to the ceiling of the hut, mouthing something softly. After a moment, he nodded. "About six winters." And he shrugged, looking at the dirt floor again. "I can't remember much. I was just little. I don't know how long I ran." He scratched his back again. "I don't know."

Six years old? Leon took another look at Merlin. He could not be much older than twelve years, or much younger. Leon thought a moment… Yes. The boy had been alone for five or so years, if he was to be believed. Surviving in the forest, hiding, for five years or so. A child. Leon did not know what to say. It was a sobering thought that settled in his stomach. Alone, for so long.

And the Prince did not have a reply for that either. Instead, he was silent for a moment or two. And when he spoke again, his voice was soft and low. "I'm sorry, Merlin."

Leon looked up. Prince Arthur was staring into the fire, hair hanging down in front of his face and hiding the expression there. Merlin was watching the Prince too.

Prince Arthur kept speaking. "I lost my mother too, a long time ago. But I know that it is painful. In Camelot-…" Arthur cleared his throat again and looked up. "In Camelot you will be safe. And your mother would be proud of how brave you have been in deciding to make the journey there."

"Thank you." The boy whispered.

Leon looked up from his work again, just finishing up the little knot that held the wrapping together, and saw that Merlin, with his lower lip quivering, was on the brink of crying. Leon put a hand to the child's shoulder and the boy did not shy away. Leon gently squeezed the thin shoulder and looked up at his leader again. Prince Arthur was watching the boy, but briefly met Leon's eyes, and smiled. Something in Leon's chest relaxed a little. He sighed.

"Sire."

Leon looked up. The Prince stood.

Sir Bedivere filled the doorway of the hut, panting. "A party of armed men. No banners that I know." Eyes locked on the Prince.

"We must go. Now!" He hissed.

* * *

Sir Leon scrambled to his feet and Arthur watched him scoop up the boy in his arms. Arthur nodded at his second-in-command then left the hut.

Down the main road of the little village they had taken shelter in, he could see a party of ten lightly armored knights riding chargers. They were moving towards them. Slowly. They had not spotted them at this point, but they would. Soon. And then all hell would break loose.

While Sir Bedivere did not recognize any of the banners, Arthur did. He had to squint but he could make out the symbol of a bird, some red-colored hawk on a brown field. It was the same banner that flew alongside the party of armored men and the one knight or nobleman that had accosted he and Leon on the forest road, had struck the boy. Arthur remembered. He was still surprised that they had survived that encounter. And dearly hoped they would live through this one too.

Arthur kept walking a little ways and ducked behind another hut where they had tied the horses. Arthur grabbed the reins of his own horse, a grey charger with a spotted rump. Thank the gods that someone had fed and watered her last night, then saddled her this morning, because he had been too exhausted to remember and then preoccupied with the boy.

He glanced down the rest of the road, back towards the way he and his men had come from last night, away from the approaching party. He strongly suspected that a similar group may also sneak up behind them from that direction, cutting them off. The only option would be to scatter, and in neither of those two directions. They had come from the east and this new party was coming from the west, the direction that the Knights of Camelot needed to go in. The dozen or so knights approaching had planned it this way, which meant that they suspected Arthur's identity and the identities of his knights. This was unfortunate, to say the least. Arthur looked back. Leon had followed him. Good.

Arthur handed the reins to Leon. "She is a trustworthy mount and will carry you both for a good ways before she tires." Without asking, and there was no time to ask, Arthur then grabbed the boy that Leon had carried out of the hut by the hips and hauled him up onto the horse.

Briefly, the boy's wide, frightened eyes met Arthur's. He felt a little sorry for yelling at him last night. The boy had tried to save Owain. Arthur knew this. He watched the child sit there for near a quarter of an hour, sweating and shaking, trying as hard as he could to heal Sir Owain's arrow wound in the chest. But try as he himself might, Arthur could not understand why the boy failed. And his men had relied on him. So Arthur had failed too.

"Go southwest." He turned back to Leon, speaking fast, and pulling the other man close. "Head to the village on the border, the one at which we stayed three days. Do you remember?"

Leon had gone quite pale, but there was no time for that either. "Yes, but-"

"Go!" Arthur slapped his second-in-command on the shoulder. "Now!"

"Sire?" Bedivere approached with the other knights as Leon clambered up onto the tall horse. "What's going on?"

"We are splitting up." Arthur untied the reins of the next horse, and then the next, and kept going down the line. "We are too few to fight them and none of us can afford to be captured or worse. If we scatter, they will not have the resources to follow each of us for long." He handed the reins to another one of his knights. "Grab what supplies your horses will carry and leave the pack horses. We have only a few moments before they are on us." Arthur watched his men rearrange the supply bags and mount their own horses in only a minute or so. "Make for the village on the border, a day's ride from here. We will regroup there if we are completely separated."

Arthur grabbed a packhorse by the reins and quickly mounted as well. Its movements were slow under him. The horses were exhausted. He hoped that they would make it one more day. They had to lose these knights. They had to. Arthur looked up. The others were making off in slightly different directions, some at a two, and some at a gallop. Sir Leon and the boy still remained, watching Arthur. Leon had one arm wrapped around the boy in his lap, and the other hand holding tightly to the reins. They looked just as terrified as Arthur felt.

"Run!" Arthur growled. There were shouts behind them now. They had been seen. His men were seen fleeing. "Run!"

They left the village behind and dove into the trees.


	5. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I have finally acquired a new laptop! Yay! I hope to begin updating again soon, and fairly regularly. Thank you to everyone who has been following me and my stories so far. I fully intend to continue everything right where I left off. Anyway, some more news. I plan to take part in NaNoWriMo this year. It is the support I have received on these seven stories that has encouraged me to keep practicing. Thank you for all the encouragement.

Leon was comfortable on a horse. That he would admit with pride. He enjoyed riding quite a lot, especially when he would take his horse out for a scenic ride through the countryside around the city of Camelot. He would make a day of it, take a small lunch, and return by sunset. He and his horse would simply wander through the dim forest, ford small cool streams, and pick their way through hilly cow pastures. It was a very soothing and enjoyable activity. Leon spat out a bit of leaf, coughing, and pulled Merlin back into the saddle since the boy was constantly slipping off. Unlike this particular ride. This was far from enjoyable.

Leon and Merlin had been riding in the direction that the Prince had pointed them in for a while now, going at the fastest pace they could with the thick forest around them and an exhausted horse beneath them. Not to mention, said exhausted horse was carrying two people now. Leon did not like it. He did not like it one bit.

Another branch whipped him in the face. "Augh!" He cried out and slowed the horse, pulling on the reins with one hand, the other still occupied in holding Merlin in place on the saddle. The horse slowed to a trot, then a walk, then stopped.

"Is it safe?" Merlin asked. He was looking around, peering into the trees with wide eyes. The child was shaking violently in Leon's arms. He panted. Resembled a wild rabbit, frightened to death, petrified and twitching.

You have been hunted more than half of your life, of course you are frightened. Reassure him. Leon took a breath and noticed that his mouth still tasted of whatever bitter leaf he accidentally eaten during their wild ride.

He patted the boy on the shoulder and had a look around as well, studying their surroundings. He strained his ears for any sound. Nothing yet. No sounds of pursuit. "Not to worry. They should not follow us. And if they do, we shall run again." Leon did not spy any movements in the trees yet. Perhaps they were safe, for now. "Not to worry." He repeated, maybe more for his own nerves than Merlin's.

Leon held his breath. He kept all three of them there in the clearing, man, boy, and horse, a few moments longer. He listened. He heard the wind and the birds, leaves rustling softly, and the beat of his own heart, but nothing else. Leon slowly let his breath out and urged the horse forward. He checked the sky again, determined southwest, and turned the little party in that direction. They would keep moving, but they could not run for long. Leon bit his lip. They would have to save the horse's energy for when running was necessary.

Please don't let it come to that, Leon prayed, silently.

They rode in merciful silence for a while.

Then Merlin, for once, spoke first. "Why are they following us? Is it me?"

I have to be careful here, Leon reminded himself, the boy should not be allowed to believe that this is his fault. That seemed to be what Merlin was really asking: Is this my fault?

"I do not know why they pursue us." Leon shrugged. "They are wealthy men, since they have armor and horses and banners. But as to who they are and what they want, I do not know."

"Do they want me?"

Probably, Leon admitted to himself. If you are who the Prince says you are, if you really are Emrys, then any noble with any amount of power would want to have you as an ally, or leverage, or dead. And that was a depressing thought.

"There's no telling, Merlin." Leon finally answered the boy. "This kingdom and the kingdom that I call home are enemies, which means that Prince Arthur is in danger being here. It could be that these knights that pursue us have discovered the Prince's identity and wish to capture him, or kill him."

"So, you and me… We are enemies?" Merlin looked back and up at Leon, one blue eye visible from under that mess of black, tangled hair.

"No." Leon patted Merlin's head. "We are friends."

"My foot hurts."

"I know." Leon ducked under a low-hanging branch, leaves brushing his face. "It will pass."

They kept moving at that slow, plodding pace for now, since Leon was hesitant to push the horse much harder. He laid out his ideas as they wended their way through the thick woods. They would travel at this pace for now, unless he heard sounds of pursuit. And they would rest at night, unless pursued. And Leon would remain calm and collected, until he were pursued. Then he would really and truly panic.

Why did Prince Arthur send Merlin with him? Leon looked down at the boy again. Trusting him with something so important. As if Leon may know what to do with the child, how to protect him. He didn't. He didn't know a thing. And he wasn't sure if the Prince had merely trusted him because there was no one else to trust. It wasn't an encouraging thought, to be honest.

A soft few hours passed, the only indication of time passing being the sun slowly shifting into its zenith and then beginning to slide down towards the horizon again. They did not talk much. Merlin did not seem to ever speak much and Leon would not say much unless invited. So they rode in silence most of the time.

Sometimes, Leon dismounted and walked beside the exhausted horse, letting only Merlin ride. He was light and the horse seemed to perk up a little once Leon was off. But boy had a hard time staying in the saddle at first. With some advice from Leon, he managed to balance in the saddle eventually. The boy learned quickly. Leon even let go to the reins and handed them to Merlin a few times, letting the boy guide the horse through the woods and over the little streams they crossed every so often. Merlin had never ridden a horse before, or so the boy said. And Leon could believe it.

Walking beside the boy and the horse, watching Merlin steer his mount around another tree, Leon saw Merlin smile. He would have smiled back had he not been intently listening into the forest.

So far, he had been listening carefully all day and keeping his eyes peeled for any movement. They had heard nothing. They had seen no one. All day.

But now... Leon took the reins from Merlin. "Hush." He hissed, and stopped the horse.

"I'm sorry." Merlin whispered.

"No- uh-" Leon strained his ears, staring wildly into the trees around him. Trees were easy to hide in, easy for prey, and easy for predators too. And that is what worried Leon. "No, Merlin, it is okay. You've done nothing wrong, it's just-"

There it was again. Leon's heart began to race. Something rustled to the right of them. Something not far off. Leon stared hard into the trees. He could see nothing. No movements. Nothing.

A twig snapped.

There was something. That was definitely something.

Leon nudged Merlin forward in the saddle. "Sit up a little there, Merlin, I'm coming up too."

"O-okay." The boy shifted forward in the saddle. "What's happening?"

"We're going to start riding again." Leon swung himself onto the mount and felt the horse sway a little beneath him. Just a little longer, friend. Just long enough to take us beyond this danger. And before Leon could hear another twig snap or let them sit exposed any longer, he dug his heels into his horse's side and they leapt off into the trees. "Hang on."

Their pace was slower than Leon would have preferred, but it was all the horse could do. And they could not keep it up for long. Leon aimed the horse down into a gully and they stepped along a stream for a time. He kept his eyes on the bank edge. Nothing yet. They changed direction again and moved a little faster over some more level ground. Leon aimed a glance back.

Someone was there. Someone on horseback.

Leon dug his heels again and guided his horse to the side. He had to lose their pursuer.

A shout.

Leon felt sweat beginning to break out on his forehead.

Faster.

He felt Merlin hanging on to one of his arms, fingers digging into his flesh. Leon could understand. He was scared too.

Another shout. Leon spared a glance back. Still following. If he had to, he would dismount and send the boy ahead. The horse would travel much faster with just one. Leon's weight was just holding them back.

"Merlin."

"Y-yes?"

Leon prepared to slow the horse.

"You must do as I say."

"I will."

Leon drew the reins sharply and the horse stumbled to a stop. He slid down. He could hear the bracken snapping not far off. They were approaching. He stuffed the reins in Merlin's hands.

"Leon?"

"Hold on tight." Leon raised a hand to smack his horse's rump. "Remember what I showed you."

"Leon, wait!" Merlin reached back with a small hand, towards him.

"Leon, wait!"

He frowned. That hadn't been Merlin's voice. He turned and saw the Prince riding towards him. Big, stupid grin on his face. Leon felt himself deflate a little. He also felt like punching something. "My lord." He found himself strangely breathless and light-headed.

"You were running from me?" Prince Arthur rode close and dismounted. "Did you think I was coming to kill you?"

"Sir Arthur!"

Leon heard Merlin exclaim from behind him somewhere, because he was quickly, and without much choice, caught up in the bear-hug that his Prince was giving him. He could see nothing but a feathering of the Prince's hair and his brown tunic.

When the Prince released him, Leon took a step back or so. He had been running from his lord. How ridiculous. He felt a little blush creep over his cheeks. "How was I to know it was you?"

"I kept calling your name." The Prince answered.

So that's what he had heard being shouted at him. Leon sighed. "We are very glad to see you, my lord."

"And I, you." The Prince took his horse's reins and led it over a little closer. "We shall walk for a while here. My horse is near dead with exhaustion."

"Mine, as well." Leon took the reins from Merlin again and began walking behind his lord.

"Should I get down too?" Merlin looked down at Leon.

"No."

"Yes."

Leon and Prince Arthur looked at each other, having answered at the same time.

The Prince then shrugged. "Your horse needs to rest and Merlin's ankle should not be too much trouble."

Says you.

But Leon didn't say that out loud.

Leon stopped his horse and held out his hands to Merlin, to catch him as he got down off the horse. "Just for a little while, Merlin. We may stop soon."

"Okay."

Merlin slid off the saddle and into Leon's arms; he made sure to set the boy gently on the ground.

"Stopping for a small respite soon would be a good idea." The Prince replied and then stopped just ahead. "I am starving."

Leon looked down to the small boy beside him. "What about you, Merlin, are you hungry too?"

Merlin nodded.

Leon noticed the boy kept his weight off the injured leg. The ankle probably would be some trouble after all.

They settled next to a small brook where Leon refilled their waterskins and let the horses drink. The sunlight that struck down through the canopy above was hot and every time one stepped into a patch of it, it was blinding. Hot and sticky. The air hung heavy in the thick trees. Leon would be glad to get back to the rolling hills of farmland that surrounded Camelot. Or just glad to get back to Camelot in general. He was sick with thoughts of home.

He watched Merlin feeding the horses from the bag of oats he had given the boy, holding out piles of the stuff in the palm of his hand and watching the beasts nibble it up with another smile. The smiles were becoming more frequent. Leon watched for another moment before returning to his Prince's side.

After a while, he and Arthur sat down beside the little brook too and ate what they had left of their dwindling supplies. They would have to stop somewhere soon and gather more.

Leon found himself chewing for a little too long on the last of the dried venison that they had brought from Camelot. He spat it out into the bushes and wiped his mouth. "Sire?"

"Yes?" The Prince was working on a stale heel of bread.

"Did you recognize any of the banners of the group chasing us?"

Prince Arthur chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then he answered. "Not by name. The only heraldry I saw, a red bird on the brown field, was the same banner the men who accosted us before carried on their livery." He nodded at Merlin. "When we were first uh- meeting the boy here."

Leon thought back to that encounter. How they had chased Merlin into the arms of some local nobleman. How something had saved them, tossed the soldiers like ragdolls. Leon knew now it had been Merlin. He had been tossed as such himself once and could attest to the boy's powers. There were things Merlin could do that Leon could not quite explain. The boy had magic. But, by all appearances, no one had taught him. Was not magic something that one learned? He did not know. He would have many questions once he returned to Camelot.

Leon nodded silently and looked back to Merlin to see how he was getting on with the horses.

The bag of oats lay on the ground, spilling out onto the forest floor.

Everyone had gone quite quiet. No birdsong.

He saw Merlin's retreating feet.

The boy was running, lame leg crumpling with each step. He disappeared behind the stream bank.

Leon frowned.

"Leon, stay where you are."

Leon turned back at the sound of his lord's voice. Turned just to find an arrow and a drawn bow inches from his nose.

He aimed a glance at the Prince. He was surrounded too by a few archers.

A man in light leather armor, finely made, approached from behind a tree. He was well-groomed, clean shaven, with dark hair and pale skin. And his clothes bore the symbol of a red bird on a brown background. The nobleman from before...

"You are surrounded." The nobleman of the red bird nodded at the Prince and Leon. "Restrain them."

* * *

It was like a nightmare.

Merlin had seen them. He had seen them growing out of the trees. Men in armor. Men with weapons. Coming closer. At first he had thought of deer; brown-coated and moving without making a sound.

But they were not deer.

Merlin had dropped the bag of horse food.

He had opened his mouth to scream.

And no sound had come out of his mouth. Nothing. He could say nothing. He tried. He really had tried.

They were coming closer.

They were watching Sir Leon and Sir Arthur.

They had not seen him yet.

So he ran. Ankle on fire.

He ran. Almost fell.

Sir Leon called out for him.

But he ran.

Merlin ducked down behind the bank of the stream. He pushed and shoved and wormed his way into the cold and wet earth. He dug a hollow there, covered by the water grasses and the overhang of the bank. Unless anyone jumped down into the water, and looked under the bank, he was safe. He was hidden. He was shaking. Dirt under his fingernails.

He heard the voices.

He could not make it out.

Merlin swallowed hard and raised himself a little, peeking through a gap made between a dead log and the ground. He could just see some feet. And Sir Leon and Sir Arthur's knees. They were kneeling. And the voices. Someone walked by his hiding spot. Boots flashing by.

Merlin ducked down. He waited. Breathed in and out, in and out, in an out. He pushed himself up again to watch. His ankle was throbbing. They were talking. He listened hard. Some words did not make sense. Some did.

"Restrain them." A dark voice said. Merlin shuddered.

People walked to Sir Leon and Sir Arthur. Merlin pressed closer to the log to get a better angle. The men that had come through the trees were tying Sir Leon's and Sir Arthur's hands. Tied behind their backs.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and wiped them, fingers shaking and dirty. He felt the dirt smear across his cheeks. Does not matter. Does not matter now.

Merlin blinked and looked through his little window again.

The dark voice again. "I would know of your business in these lands."

That voice talked like Sir Arthur talked. Something about the words was different.

"We are only farmhands." That was Sir Arthur's voice. "We travel to the farms. It is near to harvest time. Work to be done and all."

"And you?"

"I am a farmhand too." This was Sir Leon's answer.

"I would believe it too. Both of you are quite convincing, what with the dirt and the clothes and the stilted speech. But-" And the dark voice sighed. Someone was pacing around Sir Leon and Sir Arthur. They were kneeling side-by-side. The boots that paced were pretty. Nothing like Merlin had ever seen. And the voice continued. "For the fact that you and I have met before." And the boots stopped before Sir Arthur. "Prince Arthur Pendragon."

Sir Arthur tried to speak. "I-"

"Oh, not in person. I had not had that honor at the time. No, I was merely accompanying the retinue of King Cenred when he made his last visit to Camelot about five years ago." The dark voice was speaking of things that did not make sense. Words that did not have meaning. "But I do not think I would forget the face of the heir to the throne of Camelot. Though it did take me a moment or two to realize it was you when you stumbled across our paths some days ago."

Silence. Merlin could taste it.

"Now." The dark voice kept speaking and speaking. It was making Merlin nervous. "I would know of your business in these lands. It is my right to know of an enemy's intentions when they cross borders without permission and in disguise."

Merlin itched to move. To do something. And yet something kept him as still as stone.

Sir Arthur's spoke softly. "We are farmhands, we-"

A hand flew. A crack. Merlin flinched. Sir Arthur swayed back.

The person who owned the dark voice and wore pretty boots had hit Arthur.

"If you refuse to divulge your intentions, we will simply pack up now and be on our merry way. Hmm?"

Silence.

"Right, let us carry on. Retrieve their horses and have two escorts to each prisoner. We move, now!"

Merlin felt something crushing his chest. Sweat broke out onto his brow, stinging, prickling. He grit his teeth. He breathed hard. Could not catch his breath.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He was on fire. Again. Always again. He was always on fire. He thought he would be safe in this hole here. The hole he dug. He felt too crushed by it. It was happening again. A hammering in his chest. He was not safe. He was never safe.

And neither was Leon.

And neither was Arthur.

Breathe in.

Breathe.

Merlin clambered over the top of the back, fingers digging deep into the earth as he clawed his way up. His ankle made it difficult. But he finally got to the top and pushed himself to his feet. Covered in wet earth, dirt streaks. He could feel the mud drying on his face in patches.

Breathe in.

They saw him. Heads turned. A second passed and no one moved toward him.

Leon saw him.

Arthur saw him.

Merlin watched Sir Arthur open his mouth. He watched Sir Arthur shout something.

And then he heard it.

"Merlin, run!"

Run.

No.

No more running.

No more.

Everything slowed.

The bad men reached to Merlin. Fingers grasping for his wrist or his shirt or his hair. Merlin ducked. He was small. He was quick. They all missed him.

Merlin rolled. Looked up to the trees. Focused on a branch. Then sped off.

A cracking.

A thump.

A scream.

Merlin ran around the group, limping hard, jumped over a dead log. Lightning up his leg. Kept dodging the hands. A sword was drawn. And another. Someone shouted his name. Probably Sir Leon. Or Sir Arthur. Only they knew his name.

Just hearing his name made him faster.

Merlin brushed a hand against some dead bushes as he hopped. It caught flame. Roaring. Smoke was thick. Smoke would hide him.

Looked up again. Another branch crashed to the forest floor, leaves shaking loose and fluttered down behind it. Another scream. Someone had not been fast enough. But Merlin was fast.

No one could see him now. Too many branches. Too much fire. Too much smoke. Too much, too much. Good. Merlin darted to the center. Grabbed Leon's arm.

"Merlin?" He shouted.

Merlin attacked the ropes that held Leon's hands in place. Small fingers. Fast fingers. The rope fell to the ground. Leon took Merlin's arm and led him to Sir Arthur.

Soon Arthur's hands were free too and they were running. In what direction? Merlin did not know. But they were leaving the bad men behind. And that was all that mattered.

Merlin limped as far as he could, just until they could barely hear the voices from behind. He finally let himself stumble. The ground rushed up to meet him and Merlin's chin hit the dirt. He saw a light. Then some dark. His eyes cleared and Sir Arthur was bending over him, clutching at his shoulder, and wincing.

"You're okay, you're okay." The blonde man murmured softly.

Was he speaking to Merlin?

And in a moment he found himself picked up, thrown over Arthur's shoulder, and bouncing along as they kept running. The ground flashed by underneath him.

The running slowed to a jog. The sun was setting and the forest grew dim and cool. Then the jog slowed to a walk. And soon it was too dark to see. And Merlin woke when they stopped. Had he been asleep?

Sir Arthur laid him on the ground.

"Should we risk a fire?" Sir Leon's voice came from the side somewhere in the darkness.

"I don't know." Arthur replied. "I'm afraid to risk it."

"All of our supplies... the food... bedrolls..."

"I know. But we're alive... Thanks to Merlin."

Merlin felt a hand come out of the darkness and pat his head.

Arthur spoke again. "Seems you have some use after all."

Merlin smiled and closed his eyes.


	6. The Eyas

“Leon, have a look. Has he fallen asleep?”

A rhythm in the ground, in the earth, in body. Thump. Thump. Silence. But there were birds. He could hear birds...

“I’m not sure, sire.” 

A touch on his head. Thump. Thump. 

“Merlin, are you awake?”

“Did my stories put you to sleep?”

Merlin opened his eyes. Thump. Thump. A sudden stop. “No.” He answered and blinked, sun bright, he had to squint. Arthur had stopped walking and was slowly sliding Merlin to the ground. He had been riding around on Sir Arthur’s back, legs hooked into his arms. It was because of his hurt ankle. Not so much his hurt nose. Merlin gingerly felt it, it was not so swollen anymore. It still hurt. But he didn’t need his nose to walk. Probably. 

His ankle throbbed only a little when his feet touched the ground. Merlin slowly sat down into the dead leaves and moss. It was getting better too. He looked up at the two Sirs and saw that they were panting and red. They were tired. And talking. To him, actually.

“How is your ankle, Merlin?” Sir Leon got down beside him and pointed at Merlin’s foot. 

And Merlin nodded. “Doesn’t hurt.” He mumbled.

He had been listening to Sir Arthur’s voice and the stories he had been telling. In his mind, he could see it all very well. The big stone castle and it’s big towers, shining in sunlight. Big red flags flapping. So many women in pretty dresses and men with armor. Flower petals and silvery fish all melting together. 

They helped people who couldn't help themselves. Like him. He needed help. 

And they killed bad things that had hurt people. Like him? He had hurt people...

Eventually, Merlin had closed his eyes and felt like he was in one of those stories. Safe. In Camelot. It felt like he had been alone forever.

But Mama would be proud of him. She would. He knew it.

Sir Leon was taking off the bandage on his ankle now. He was being careful. That was nice of him. Merlin watched the man’s big fingers, clumsy with the knot. He reached out and undid it himself. There. All done. 

“Thank you, Merlin.” And Leon unwrapped it, staring at it for a little. “It looks better.” He said, after a minute.

Merlin looked at his ankle too. It didn’t look so ugly anymore. No more dark bruises. It just hurt a little.

Sir Arthur sat down beside them, puffing and sweaty. “So, which was your favorite story?”

“Umm.” Merlin swallowed hard. His throat was dry. They had lost all but one waterskin when the scary men had found them. So they had all been sharing that day. And they hadn’t found a lot of streams. And it was hot. Very hot. “Favorite?”

“What was your favorite story? There were a lot.”

“There certainly were.” Sir Leon said.

Sir Arthur coughed. “Pardon?”

Merlin looked from Sir Arthur to Sir Leon, who was now wrapping up his ankle again. It twinged. He licked his lips. And he thought about it. He hadn’t been asleep. Just listening. “The-... The one about your bird.” Sir Arthur had told him a lot about the bird that he had trained and how it hunted for him. It sounded very pretty. 

“My bird is actually called a gyrfalcon, Merlin. I caught him as a year-old passage, when he was traveling southwards for the colder months.” Sir Arthur pointed upwards. “He is the purest white, like that cloud there between the branches, with black speckles. He is tame, but not completely, since I caught him as a juvenile and not as an eyas.”

Merlin sounded out the strange word, trying to copy Sir Arthur. “Ee-yas?” He looked up at the cloud. Very white.

“A chick.” Sir Arthur cupped his hands together, as though holding something small. “A little baby bird. That is an eyas. But he is definitely not a baby, he is a big fellow now. His name is Wen and I will bring you to meet him sometime, once we have returned to Camelot.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. He lives in a mew up at the top of the western tower. I will take you there and you can see him hunt. He will like you.” Sir Arthur drank a little from the waterskin. 

Sir Leon finished wrapping Merlin’s ankle, pulling the bandage tight. Merlin gasped. It hurt. A lot. 

Sir Arthur touched his shoulder. He frowned.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin looked up to Sir Leon, who was speaking again. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you. But your foot looks to be healing well. How is your nose?”

Merlin nodded and shrugged. He met Sir Leon’s eyes as the knight peered into his face, looking at Merlin’s nose. Blue, Merlin thought, blue eyes. 

Sir Leon reached out, to his nose, to his face. Merlin flinched back, blinking. He didn’t mean to.

Sir Leon moved away from him. “It doesn’t look too crooked.” 

Merlin felt his nose. It didn’t feel too crooked. He shook his head. “I don’t think it is.”

Sir Leon smiled. “I don’t think so either. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Merlin thought a moment. His back itched. Always itched. Reached around and under his tunic. Scratched. Much better. 

“On your back?”

Merlin took his hand off his back. “No.” Shook his head.

“Leon.” Sir Arthur said. “Would you have a look at my shoulder too? It’s been twinging every so often.”

The arrow. Merlin looked up at Sir Arthur. He had healed it. He knew he had. It shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Merlin frowned and looked back down to the ground. Grass, dirt, roots, moss, earth, ground, solid. He frowned and spoke slowly. “It shouldn’t hurt. Maybe…”  
“Maybe, what?” 

“Maybe I did it wrong.” He hadn’t. It was the first time he had ever done it right. He had felt the wound become whole again. Felt the hole in Sir Arthur’s arm close. “I’m sorry.”

Hand on his shoulder again. “You did well, Merlin.” Sir Leon told him. “Very well.”

“Yes, do not worry.” Sir Arthur spoke up. “Perhaps I injured it again. I probably did not notice.”

Merlin nodded. 

“But still, Leon, would you have a look? And Merlin?”

Merlin looked up.

Sir Arthur continued. “Keep watch, please. Your eyes are obviously better than ours anyway.”

Merlin turned to stand watch and looked into the trees around him. Nothing but green.

The two knights were talking behind him. 

“Is this it? This scar?” Sir Leon’s voice.

“Yes. Does it look like it opened up at all?”

A pause. The birds filled the silence. “Not at all. The scar is ugly and puckered though. Perhaps you are only remembering the pain?”

“Could be.” Sir Arthur said. 

“Sire, we really must get moving again if we want to reach the border village by nightfall. The men must be there by now, I hope.”

“I’m beginning to think, Leon, that it would be better for everyone if we simply made towards Camelot with all possible speed.”

“We-... Sire?”

“We’ve been lucky so far, but if we were to be ambushed again, I fear-”

“Abandon them?”

Merlin flinched. Leon’s voice was loud. Leon was usually a nice person, but now, he didn’t sound like one.

“What?”

Sir Leon was still loud. “Abandon your men, Sire, you mean to do that?”

“I am not choosing to leave them, I am choosing to get Merlin to safety.  
His name. Merlin heard his name. It was weird to hear his name again. Safety? What was that? Safety had been his cave, his hole in the ground. Now safety was a far off place. It was place that Sir Arthur and Sir Leon loved. Maybe Merlin could love it too. 

But the knights were still talking. Almost yelling. Merlin took his eyes off the trees and turned to face the knights again.

“If they are discovered as knights of Camelot, they will be hanged!” Sir Leon was red in the face and standing over the other knight.

“Know your place!” Sir Arthur was still sitting on the ground, looking up at Sir Leon. Red cheeks too. “I have a mission from the King. I am responsible for-”

“You are responsible for everything!” The forest rang with Sir Leon’s voice.

They were being too loud, Merlin decided. Very much. Very loud. Merlin stood up and his ankle throbbed, but it was not bad. 

Sir Leon was still yelling. “As the commander of the mission, you are responsible for it all: the mission, yourself, and YOUR MEN!”

“That village,” And Sir Arthur pointed in some direction. It was the direction they had come from, not the direction they had been going. Wrong direction. “That village could very well be some sort of a trap!”

“If it is, then your knights are in danger!”

“What am I to do then? What do you want me to do? Lose our quarry but save the men? It is their job to-”  
“To what?! Die?!”

“No, I did not-”

“That’s what you-”

“Shut up!” Merlin snarled. He stomped his foot. The injured foot. Pain shot up his leg. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He kept his voice as low as he could. The two men heard him and turned to look at him. Staring like he’d grown an extra head. A wind rushed through the trees above. Branches crackled. Birds stopped singing.

“We’re hiding from those men. The ones who chased us.” Merlin eyed the knights. Sir Leon turned white. Sir Arthur touched his shoulder again. Merlin continued, hissing his words. “Don’t be loud if you want to hide.”

“Silence.” Sir Arthur got up. He was tall. Really tall. “This is none of your concern.” Eyes were big and wide.

Merlin took a step back. 

“Sit down and be silent!” The knight barked.

Heart pounding, Merlin sat down. He lowered his eyes. Sir Arthur was mad at him. 

“Sire.” Sir Leon’s shoes came into view. He was standing over Merlin.

The hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stood up and he felt very much like jumping away. But he didn’t. He forced himself to stay very still. 

Sir Leon was still talking. “He’s right. We are being too-”

“He has no right to interrupt.” Footsteps, back and forth. Sir Arthur was pacing. “A child has no authority over you or me. He will be silent until we’re done talking or unless he sees something during his watch. No right!”

A child?

Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sire, I apologize for my passion. I am thinking of the others, my friends.”

“They are my friends too, Leon.”

“I didn’t-”

“We need more water. I spotted a stream ahead. I will return. Then we will continue, towards Camelot.” Heavy footsteps, pounding away, disappearing.

A bit of silence passed. 

Then Merlin looked up at Sir Leon and the knight sat down beside him again. “I’m sorry, Merlin. You were right, we were much too loud.” Their eyes met. “Thank you.”

“Sorry.” Merlin mumbled. 

“Don’t be. He’s grumpy when his blood’s up.” Sir Leon stretched out his legs and sighed. “He just-... He has a lot of people that rely on him. His father, his men, you” And Sir Leon nudged Merlin gently. “And me.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, swallowed hard, then spoke again. “I’m not a child.”

“What?”

“I’m.. I’m not-” 

Sir Leon laughed a little. “Merlin, it is okay to be a child.”

“It’s because I’m small?”

The knight was quiet for a bit. “It is because you are young.”

The trees moved above them. I am young, he thought. Every so often, a branch overhead creaked softly. He mulled it over. “I don’t feel it.” He said.

“Oh.” Merlin couldn’t see Sir Leon’s face, but his voice was funny and thick. “Merlin.” And that was all he said. He cleared his throat a lot. 

Sir Arthur had told him a lot of stories about Camelot. Merlin wondered if Sir Leon had any too. “Do you have any stories, about castles and things?” He looked down to the patch of moss that they were sitting on and began to play with it. It was a very dark green. Up close, each little, tiny stalk of moss looked like a tree. A small forest.

Merlin thought that Sir Leon hadn’t heard him, since it took forever for him to answer. But he did, after a while. 

“Umm.” Sir Leon cleared his throat again. “Yes, I probably have a few.”

“Do you like it there?” 

“It’s my home. I love it dearly.” Sir Leon answered.

Home. 

Merlin pulled up a bit of moss and looked at the bottom. The roots were short. And very small. His mother had shown him how to move moss. It would grow anywhere if it had water. She would pluck a piece of it up, put it down in some bare earth, give it water. It would spread and grow. Always easy to pull up. Always easy to put back down. 

Homes were hard to find. 

Merlin put the moss back down and pressed it into place. 

He was plucked from his cave and he was being moved to Camelot. Like a bit of moss.

Would he grow?

Would Camelot be home?

“Is there-” And the knight cleared his throat again. “Is there anything in particular that you would like to hear about?” 

Merlin shrugged. “Do you have...a bird? Like Sir Arthur?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“You could have a bird, Merlin, once you got to Camelot. Just like Arthur’s.”

Merlin thought a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. He watched Sir Leon, who was turned away a little, rubbing at his face. “I have a bird at my cave. His name is Mister Sparrow.”

“Mr. Sparrow?” And Sir Leon turned back, and his smile was back. 

Merlin relaxed a little. “Yes, he is a sparrow.”

“Is he?” The knight shifted a little, looking into Merlin’s face. Still smiling. “I should never have guessed.”

“Well, I named him Mr. Sparrow…”

“Pardon me, Merlin, I was only making fun. So, Mr. Sparrow was your bird?”

Merlin shook his head. “He is his own bird.”

“An independent bird, so to speak?”  
“In-de-pen…”

“I mean that-” Sir Leon spoke again, quickly. “He took care of himself?” He asked.

“Yes. A bit.” Merlin frowned, thinking of Mr. Sparrow and all his little feathers. Fluffed. Tweeting loudly. Tiny feet and fluttering wings. “But I would feed him in the winter. He wouldn’t go far from the cave. I saved seeds and threw them outside for him a lot. In-de-pen...” Merlin couldn’t quite figure out the word that Sir Leon had just said.

“Are you going to miss Mr. Sparrow?” The question was a sad question. But Sir Leon was still smiling when he asked it.

Merlin nodded. 

“Is that why you like stories about birds?”

Merlin nodded. His throat felt too tight to say ‘yes’.

“I’m sure Mr. Sparrow misses you too.”

“How… How is he going to eat when it gets cold?”

“Oh.” And Sir Leon was quiet for a minute or two. “He can probably fend for himself in the winter. But I’m sure he appreciated your help.”

“He won’t be hungry?”

“No, he’ll be fine. Sparrows are made of stronger stuff than you think. Hardy little fellows.”

Hardy little fellows. Like me, Merlin thought. In-de-pen-dent. Independent. Can take care of himself. Independent. Stronger than you think.

“Yes.” Merlin agreed. “Mr. Sparrow is independent.”

“Tell me more about him.”

Merlin brushed the dirt off his hands. The little bird flew into his thoughts, fluttering around behind his eyes. He felt himself smile. “He is loud.”  
Sir Leon laughed.

“He woke me up in the morning.” Merlin continued. “A lot. Before the sun came up.”

“Cheeky little beggar.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and looked back down to the ground. Mr. Sparrow would be okay. That was good. Merlin sighed and he felt something in his chest loosen. A breeze brushed by, making his hair flop into his eyes. Merlin pushed it aside. Fingers inched down to his ankle, playing with the bandage there. They were silent and the forest around them breathed. Merlin breathed. 

“If you don’t mind, could I ask you a question? About your…” A pause. A weird pause. “Your magic?”

His magic. 

Merlin swallowed.

He nodded. “Yes.” 

“It’s about your ankle. Or your nose, really. You healed the Prince. Why can’t you heal yourself?”

It was simple. It made sense. Merlin reached up and under his tunic and scratched his back. It was a question that made sense. It had a simple answer. Merlin opened his mouth and the answer left his chest like a breath. 

“I tried to once and it didn’t work.” The words made sense. But they sounded weird when he said it. “It hurt a lot.” Saying it, made it more real. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Won’t work.” Merlin shook his head. It almost made the thoughts go away. Almost. “It won’t work on me.” He stood up and stared out into the trees. He was supposed to be keeping watch, wasn’t he? Sir Arthur had told him too. Or was he a Prince? Merlin wasn’t sure now. But he knew he was supposed to be looking out for any more bad men. 

Sir Leon was quiet for a minute, but he spoke again after a bit. “I bet you’re hungry!” He got to his feet too and stayed beside Merlin. Patting his shoulder. “I’m starving.”

He was probably hungry, Merlin thought, but he had stopped feeling it after a while. But he still answered. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ll just have to find you some food and feed you like you fed Mr. Sparrow.” 

And Merlin felt a hand pat his head, messing his hair. 

His mama had touched his hair that way too. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. “I’m in-de-pen-dent.” He said, but he still smiled. 

“I know you are.” Sir Leon was gathering some of his things from where he had left them on the ground. A sword, a small pack, and a few other things. The rest had been with the horses. And those were gone now. “But do you know how to hunt deer?” 

“No.” Merlin had only foraged for roots and berries, and caught fish from icy streams. But he had snuck up on deer before. Just for fun. Waiting to see how long it took until they noticed him. It had been like a game.

“Well, I’ll show you once Prince Arthur comes back.”

“Where is he?”

“He has been awhile, hasn’t he?”


End file.
